EO Challenge: Don't Go To Bed Angry
by LaedieDuske
Summary: E/O Drabble challenge - challenge word "hurt" - T for blood, cursing - NO WINCEST - FINAL CHAPTER ADDED 11-17-10 **COMPLETE**
1. Chapter 1

Title: E/O Challenge - Don't Go To Bed Angry

Author: Laedie Duske

Disclaimer: I own nothing - not even a mousepad with the boys on it

Word Count: 100 exactly (Though it hurts me to leave him like this!)

Featured Word: Hurt, and by request from the birthday girl (Happy Birthday Deangirl1!) we have some bloody goodness. (Not that I mind that in the least...)

Darkness receding from his head, but not the ringing in his ears. In the dim light, realizing he couldn't see out of his right eye. Fearfully reaching up, expecting to find an empty eye socket. His trembling fingers clearing away blood. His vision cleared some. Looking down, he saw his left side darkly wet. Lifting his shirt, hissing as it peeled off the stab wound in his stomach. Remembering the fight with Sammy. His feelings hurt, he stormed off to the bar snarling, "Don't wait up". Bleeding badly, no idea where he was and there was no hope of rescue.


	2. Chapter 2

**Because no, I couldn't leave him that way:**

**Sam's POV**

Sam knew he was being pissy. He heard the words coming out of his mouth, knew how deeply he was hurting his brother, but couldn't stop. They'd been driving themselves hard forever, hunt after hunt, kept them from thinking about Yellow Eyes. Kept them from healing, too. Not just their physical wounds, the emotional hurts they each bore took their toll every minute.

But Sam had been pissy, and Dean had teased, trying to lighten him up. Dean's Prime Directive: Must Protect Sammy. Even from Sammy's own dickishness.

Sam also knew Dean had been gone too long. Way too long.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dean's POV (Yeah, I've given up on keeping this one a drabble...)**

His vision was still spotty, but he could see well enough to spot a small window set up by the ceiling and a few feet over from where the soles of his boots were nudged up against the wall. He was flat on his back in a basement. He tried to sit up thinking he might try to reach it, but where the protests of the stomach wound left off the head wound picked up. The room started to spin around him like a freakish carnival ride. He slumped back to the floor, one hand pressed to his stomach and one to his forehead trying to keep pressure to stop the bleeding from both. His hands were shaking badly, though, and he wondered how much good he was really doing.

It took him a minute to realize there were no signs of life in the building besides his own shallow breathing. No creaky floorboards, no light except what the moon was giving off. If he were still in town there would be street lights. Where the hell was he?

Lights flashed before his eyes and he braced himself for the struggle to stay conscious. As the broken glass rained down from the window he realized it wasn't starbursts from behind his eyes. The light from the flashlight found its way to his nearly limp form, spearing into his sensitive eyes inciting a Lars Ulrich-worthy drum solo in his head. Over the ringing in his ears from the blood loss he heard a very familiar voice:

"Dean! Hang on bro, I found ya."

As one Sasquatch-sized little brother dropped through the broken window and moved quickly to his side.


	4. Chapter 4

**Explanations And Escape - Not Necessarily In That Order (Warnings for language, blood)  
**

"Sammy." Just a breath of air through abused lips - the word a talisman to hold away the hurts of the world.

"_God_ Dean! What the _hell_?"

Sam was _pissed_ - it was pouring off him like sweat on a hot day, he was practically vibrating with it.

Hurt that Sam would -_could-_ be that angry with him after finding him so badly injured and in such a perilous situation, Dean did what he always did.

Masked his hurts with bravado and not a little anger of his own, born of the shame and frustration of being so helpless.

"You didn't have to come Sammy, sorry to put such a kink in your night," he managed to growl, though it sent twin white-hot stabs of pain through his head and stomach. It stole his breath away and his head slid back down to the concrete floor as his arm tightened weakly against his abdomen. He fought the urge to clench his eyes closed, knowing that would just make it hurt more.

Sam was too stunned to speak for a moment. His mind raced as he knelt beside his (_dying-no-not-dying-because-I'm-here-now_) brother. He made a quick circuit of the room with the flashlight. He then set it on the floor so that it shone down his brother's long body, careful not to shine it in his eyes yet. He tried to ignore the blood that covered Dean's pale face, his shirt, jeans and boots. Sam took a deep breath to steady himself, and then it clicked and he could have kicked himself. Dammit.

His take-a-bullet-and-keep-on-going brother sometimes had the thinnest skin of anyone he'd ever met.

"Dean," his tone softened, his voice gentle as he reached a hand out to his brother's shoulder, "hey, Dean, listen to me, please." He could feel the tension in his brother's shoulder, knew it was more than just the pain of his injuries that he felt there. Green eyes cracked open a sliver, "Dean, I'm not angry with _you_. I was an ass at the hotel, and I am sorry. I am pissed that these back-woods assholes decided to use you as bait, not because I had to come find you. I've got to get you out of here before - nevermind, I will explain once we get you out to your baby. But you've gotta know that nobody could drag you far enough, fast enough for me to not find you somehow man. No matter what."

"Because nobody can lay a hand on my brother but me?" Dean was trying for teasing, a forgive-forget-and-let's-move-on sort of thing, but Sam could still hear the undercurrent of hurt feelings his brother would never admit to. He was _so_ going to force a chick-flick moment on his brother later when they were safe again. He was relieved when some of the tension slid out of the shoulder he was holding onto though.

Sam's eyes flicked back to the window he had come in through as he dug in the small bag he had brought with him. He may be taller than Dean, but Dean definitely had the breadth of shoulders and depth of chest on him. He was not entirely sure his brother could squeeze out through there and, even if he could, he was pretty positive the instant Dean's stomach dragged across that sill he would pass out from the pain. His fingers closed around the smallish plastic pouch and he dragged it out of his bag, opening the military surplus field dressing quickly.

"Sorry Dean, this is gonna suck but I've got to do it quickly." He moved Dean's arm away and quickly lifted the front of his blue t-shirt, wincing when he saw the dark bruises along the ribs and across his stomach. It was not hard to see where the blood was coming from and he desperately wanted to clean it off then and there so he could see how bad it really was but there was no time.

Looking at his brother lying there in his own blood, covered in deep bruises he felt tendrils of rage start to slither out of his belly.

There was no response from Dean about being manhandled. Sam was getting worried and trying to calculate whether he could do a fireman's carry without doing further damage to his brother's wounds.

When he pressed the dressing to the stomach wound, though, Dean jerked and clenched his teeth together with a pained grunt. Relief and guilt struggled in Sam's gut, "Sorry, I'm sorry, can you hold it? I've got to tie it off so we can get out of here." He was hoping the "get out of here" part would be easier than this.

Dean put one of his big hands over the dressing to hold it in place. Sam grabbed the flashlight and checked the wound on his head and his eyes before moving on. The pupils were uneven, not surprisingly.

"You're definitely concussed. Here's how we're gonna do this: I'm going to get you sitting up so I can tie the field dressing. _You_ are _not_ going to help, understand?" He almost grinned when Dean bristled at him, but he needed his brother to take him seriously on this. He needed to not put any tension on the wound if it could be avoided.

"Mmkay." His voice was breathy, weak and it pissed him off.

Sam flashed the light around the room again before laying it back on the floor facing between them. He reached his left arm under Dean's head and upper back, his right arm he wrapped under Dean's left elbow where it was bent and holding the field dressing. As gently as he could, he levered his brother into a sitting position. The change in altitude turned Dean's face a bit green and he wondered for a second whether it was a wasted effort. If he was going to throw up, he was going to wrench himself open anyway.

"You okay? Are you going to be sick?" Sam asked softly, conscious of the close proximity to his brother's undoubtedly pounding head. He leaned Dean against his shoulder to steady him while he reached down and quickly knotted the tails on the field dressing.

A few shallow breaths later, "No, 'mgood." His gravelly voice rumbled deep in his chest and made his own head hurt. Maybe weak and breathy wasn't so bad after all.

"Alright, I'm gonna lean you up against the wall and see if I can't get that door open."

Dean opened his mouth to object, to tell Sam he wasn't an old woman and didn't need his damn help sitting, leaning or anything else. What came out was, "Mmkay."

Sam slid him back against the wall with a hiss and a grunt. A mumbled, " 'm okay," and a push sent him on his way to check out the door. The hook and eye latch was easily wrenched from its moorings on the other side of the door and he was back at Dean's side.

Crouching down he slid Dean's arm around his shoulders and his arm behind his brother's back. Trying to avoid the spectacular array of bruising he aimed for the waist, below the abused ribs. "You ready for this?"

"Born ready," came the anticipated response, spawned from years of habit and repetition.

The trip to standing was done in too-rapid increments and by the time they were both upright, Sam was bearing the brunt of Dean's weight. Though not surprised by this, he had certainly hoped for a better scenario.

"Dean, you still with me?"

"Ngh-" _Not exactly_.

He hated what he was about to do, hated even more that he knew it would work. In an urgent tone he clipped out, "Dean, I need your help."

Green eyes snapped open with a breathy, "Sammy! You okay?" He flinched hard against the pain that shot through him, nausea roiled through his gut and his breath hitched in his chest.

The rage that had been coiling through Sam's veins towards the redneck fuckwits who did this to Dean was suddenly, irrationally increased tenfold after having to pull such a low blow just to get his brother semi-coherent.

"I'm okay," he soothed instantly, tightening his grip on his brother's unsteady form. "I'm okay but I need your help. I can't hold you, the flashlight and the gun all at once. I need you to stay awake, take the flashlight and shine it ahead of us okay?" Of course he also was not sure how bad the concussion was and wanted Dean conscious as much as he could possibly manage it.

Ten minutes later, Sam deposited a semi-conscious Dean in the passenger seat of the Impala and hauled ass towards the nearest hospital.

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**A/N - Leaving it up for reader input: End there? More info on the stagger to the car? Or move on to hospital and beyond? Because honestly if left unsupervised I could go on and on and on and...**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N I am not a medical professional and, while I am doing my best to research what I can, I will have to claim any errors as my own. Apologies in advance, I'm doing my best to keep the story going and the research has already pushed this way beyond where I wanted to have it posted. **

He tried to keep his brother awake during the drive to the hospital, but even Dean Winchester can be overcome by blood loss and pain. One moment he was hunched slightly forward in the seat with both arms wrapped around his stomach, and the next he let out an agonized moan and slumped over against the door.

"Dammit Dean," Sam whispered past the panic that was making it hard to breathe, "Don't do this, man. Please, stay with me."

He did not dare stop the car, precious time would be lost and he needed to get his wounded brother to medical care pronto. He feared he might already be too late and cursed himself for waiting so long to go looking for his sibling. Stupid pride. Stupid argument.

Why the hell couldn't he hold his goddamn tongue for once? They were _both_ exhausted, they had _both_ been pushing themselves too hard, why was it _he_ was the only one lashing out? Christ, when had Dean _not_ bent over until his back was nearly breaking just to keep him happy? And that was the thanks he got? Sam sticks a verbal knife in his guts before some back-woods redneck mick does it for real?

Just like that he could hear Dean's voice in his head, "Sammy, don't be so hard on yourself, man. You've been through a lot, don't go beating yourself up on top of it." At that moment he wanted nothing more than to reach inside his own skull and drag that voice out kicking and screaming, then pummel it to death for offering him absolution.

He shook his head to clear it and realized what he was doing. Procrastinating. He knew he needed to check on his brother, knew he needed to reach over and make sure he was still...he couldn't even finish the thought, because if anything happened to Dean...no, don't finish that one either. He was terrified of losing the one who had always been there for him no matter what. It's how he had known something was wrong. Dean was hurt and angry when he left but he knew Dean would forgive him and come back.

Because Dean always forgave him.

He reached across the seat and carefully pulled Dean over until he was leaning against his shoulder. He did not realize how badly his hand was shaking until he tried to press his fingers to the pulse point in Dean's neck. The shaking only got worse when he could not find a pulse right away. He was so focused his brain did not even register when he brokenly started whispering _oh please oh please oh please_ while the tears threatened to blind him.

He nearly drove them into a ditch when he found the weak pulse and went light-headed with relief.

It was weak, though, and he knew he didn't have much time. With a whispered, "Sorry Dean, sorry Baby," he floored the gas pedal. The Impala dropped lower to the ground and growled loudly into the night, knowing her boy was in trouble.

He wrapped his arm across his brother's broad shoulders, nestling his fingertips under the strong jawline. He needed that constant connection, needed to be able to feel Dean's pulse. To know it was still there. He knew he wouldn't be able to focus on the road if he didn't. He knew if Dean woke up, he'd be in for some serious hell for "cuddling", and he half hoped that furious indignation would be enough to bring him around again. It wasn't.

Neither was screeching to a stop in front of the emergency room, tires smoking. He knew Dean would kill him if he knew. He hoped he'd have the chance to tell him about it, knowing he would take any reaction at all from his brother right then. Sam slammed her into park and barely remembered to drag the keys out of the ignition and drop them in his pocket before he was out the door.

It would take too long for him to get around the car to the passenger side, he could very well lose his mind by then, so he dragged Dean's boneless form across the bench seat and out the driver side door as well. Wrapping one of Dean's long arms across his shoulders, he snaked one arm behind his unconscious sibling's back and his other hand he pressed to the stomach wound. Fear curled in his gut when there was no reaction to the pressure.

Of course he didn't want to cause his brother pain but, dammit, he wanted some reaction.

Kicking the car door closed behind them, his guilty conscience added that to the Things Dean Could Be Pissed At Me For When He Wakes Up list. He dragged the pale, limp form in through the emergency room doors and started screaming for someone to help him. He didn't care if he looked like a madman - madmen get attention and his (_best friend-protector-guardian-parent-sibling_) brother needed help.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Again, not a medical professional, any medical errors are mine alone. This brings us to the end of things, thank you to everyone who's continued to read and asked for more! You all rock my socks off!**

**Chaos And Blood In The ER -**

A gurney was wheeled to Sam within seconds, the triage nurses helping him to lift Dean onto the hard cushioned table. It took him a moment to realize one of the nurses was talking to him.

"...happened?"

"He was s-s-stabbed in the stomach," he stammered, not realizing how wrenching it would be to actually say the words aloud, "they hit him in the head, he has a concussion, and he's just sprouting new bruises every other second. I wasn't there," a sharp pang of guilt like a punch in the gut, he wrapped his arms around his stomach, "I don't know what else they did to him. He's lost a lot of blood, please help him!"

There was a flurry of activity and the gurney started to move. Dean hadn't so much as twitched, and that scared Sam more than anything else. His brother was always on high-alert even when he was sleeping. All the activity around him should have triggered his survival mechanism. Instead he lay utterly still, face nearly as white as the pillow under his head. Sam's eyes were glued to his brother's chest, watching for every shallow breath.

He started to follow the gurney numbly, when he felt a hand on his arm.

"You can't go with him, they need to do some scans and run some tests to make sure nothing vital was punctured. If something _is_ punctured in his abdomen, he will need to get to surgery immediately. Judging by the looks of him and what you've told us, he will need a transfusion as well. You will need to fill out some paperwork before that can happen, I'm sorry." She genuinely looked sorry for dragging him away, but that did nothing to soothe the young hunter.

He felt suddenly, crushingly bereft without his brother at his side. No matter where they were or what they were doing - in the Impala, at a rundown motel, doing a job - his brother was never far from his side. A fact that sometimes annoyed the everlovin' hell out of him, but right now he would have given anything for that sense of security.

Because when Dean was with him, nothing could happen to him. And if by some chance something _did_ happen to him, Dean could always get him out of it or make it better somehow.

That thought stopped him dead in his tracks. _Shake it off Sammy-boy, your brother needs _you_ now, _he thought to himself. He needed to stop feeling sorry for himself and get his ass in gear, get done what needed to get done so his brother could get the medical attention he needed. He tore his eyes away from the double doors Dean had disappeared through and followed the nurse to the check-in desk.

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An hour later, he had chewed all of his nails down to nothing.

Two hours later, he was pretty sure he was wearing a groove in the floor around the waiting room.

Three hours later, he heard one of the nurses at the desk mutter something about "sedative" and "blow-gun". He was pretty positive that was aimed in his direction, but could not find it in him to care.

Four hours later and he was ready to salt and burn the building to the ground.

Five hours, twenty seven minutes (and who cared if he _did_ know how many seconds, he needed _something_ to focus on, right?) later, a rather rumpled looking doctor came into the room calling for Sam Bettencourt. He almost smiled when he thought of what Dean would say about his chosen alias. At that moment he was rather too intent on getting to the doctor as quickly as possible, his mouth already three steps ahead of his feet, "Where's my brother? Is he okay? Can I see him?"

Something that might have been fear flickered through the doctors eyes as Sam was suddenly looming over him, quivering with barely contained tension. He realized his fists were clenched and he had been grinding questions between clenched teeth. He took a deep breath, uncoiled his fists and tried again, "Look, I've been here almost five and a half hours and _nobody _has told me _anything_. Is my brother okay?"

"He will be, Mr. Bettencourt. Please, sit." The doctor motioned towards one of the chairs behind Sam. Chairs which, Sam knew, were so uncomfortable they ought to have been against the Geneva Convention.

"I don't want to sit, I just want to know what happened. 'He will be okay' is not the same thing as 'he _is_ okay', so please just cut to the chase and either tell me what happened or tell me where I can find him."

He felt a little bad coming unglued in the doctor's direction - it wasn't the doctor's fault his brother had been taken by a pack of sadistic jackwagons and left to die in a basement, or that Sam had been up for 20-something hours without sleep and almost no food. It wasn't the doctor's fault he had been a jerk to Dean, driving him out the door into the night, probably too distracted by his brother's harsh words to be fully paying attention to his surroundings making him an easier target. None of it was the doctor's fault.

It was all Sam's.

Guilt came crashing down on him with the weight of a building, turning his stomach and pressing hard on his chest. The world started to get a little fuzzy around the edges and he suddenly found himself sitting in one of those ungodly chairs rather harder than necessary. Someone, presumably the doctor, had their hand on the back of his head forcing it down between his knees. Was he hyperventilating? Shit. Dean would never let him hear the end of it if he found out.

A cup of water passed into his vision, he took it and sat up slowly. After cautiously sipping a little down, he took a deep breath and turned what was probably the mother of all puppy-dog looks on the doctor. "_Please_."

"By some miracle, no internal organs were perforated. An artery was nicked in his abdomen, though, and it took some time to locate and repair it once we got him into emergency surgery. Your brother lost a lot of blood. He has a concussion bordering between moderate and severe presumably from the blow to the forehead, which took 14 stitches to close. He has three broken and two cracked ribs. There is extensive bruising on his abdomen, and some of the bruises are deep into the muscle tissue." Sam knew it was no miracle the internal organs were intact, his brother had been stabbed with a nearly surgical precision to ensure he survived long enough to be the living sacrifice. The doctor sighed. "Honestly, I am not entirely sure how he pulled through."

Sam had to smile at that. "My brother is a stubborn son of a bitch doc. Can I see him?"

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At some point exhaustion overcame his vigilance and he fell asleep with his head on Dean's bed. He was in a private room so he could be closely monitored without disturbing a roommate, so Sam had been allowed to stay with him.

It was not until the following day that Dean's eyes blinked open, a day and a half after being taken. Sam put his hand on top of his brother's and moved into his line of sight. Muzzy with the hefty painkillers running through his system, it took a minute for Dean's eyes to properly track.

"Hey Dean. You're okay, you're in the hospital, but you're gonna be okay. Do you remember what happened?"

Dean blinked a couple of times, frowning slightly. "Fought. Left for bar. Guys." The heart monitor started to beep faster.

"It's okay, you're safe now. Just relax."

Wounded green eyes stared at him and guilt began to gnaw at him again. "Came for me."

"Came for you? What do you mean, Dean?" Had they been targeting Dean specifically? Was it not a random attack? The thoughts fed the rage that had been pushed to the back of the line, behind panic, guilt and fear for his brother.

"You came for me."

His chest tightened painfully and he could not fight the tears that threatened to spill over. Dean had thought he would not come for him. His brother had actually thought he was not going to help him. Had he really hurt Dean badly enough that he thought Sam didn't care about him? This was about way more than some petty argument, then. He thought back through the last few weeks on the road and cringed when he realized how snappish he'd been without intending to be.

"Of _course_ I came for you Dean." He wrapped his long fingers around his brother's hand and was surprised when Dean squeezed his fingers, "Look, we're stuck together all day, every day, all the time. Of course we're going to bicker like a married couple from time to time. But...man..." he struggled for words and decided to just say what he really wanted to say in that moment, "you're my brother, and I love you. We look out for each other. It's what we do. You'd do it for me. Hell, you _have_ done it for me. This was all my fault to begin with."

Relief washed over him as Dean's face lost the haunted, hurt look. "Not your fault Sammy."

"Rest, we can argue about this later." Keeping his grip on Dean's hand, he settled into the chair beside the bed again.

Sam felt Dean squeeze his fingers and heard, "Love you too Sasquatch," before Dean's breathing evened out and he was asleep again. He was pretty sure if it ever came up, Dean would blame it on the medication but he didn't care. He knew Dean meant it. He smiled and enjoyed the moment before moving his thoughts back to what was still ahead of them.

When Dean was stronger, Sam could explain to him how he had been beaten and bled to be offered as a living sacrifice to the Goddess of the Hunt, Artemis. The men who had taken Dean offered an annual sacrifice to ensure their hunting season was successful. To Sam it seemed like a stupid reason to end a human life, a sentiment not shared by the Great White Hunters apparently. He was pretty positive Dean would want to be in on the retribution and the challenge of taking down a goddess.

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**I nearly forgot - a gold star to anyone who can identify who the alias comes from. :-)  
**


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